


The Ballad of Two Young Men (and One Young Love)

by The Key To Imagine (whiskeywit)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 13:06:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10438368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeywit/pseuds/The%20Key%20To%20Imagine
Summary: Title: The Ballad of Two Young Men (and One Young Love)Rating: RWord Count: 3031Disclaimer: I don't own the Beatles or their rights, this is a work of nothing but fiction.A/N: Happy Valentine's Day to y'all! I hope at least some of you have dates or a nice boyfriend/husband who's set up a dinner by candlelight or a romantic walk down the beach by moonlight. John and Paul in this little story will do no such thing, but I hope it's cute nevertheless, and beware of the FLUFF! I guess. Oh and mostly it's rambling, I guess, so I hope you can follow it. Enjoy! And leave a comment if you want to, they are appreciated!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Backup of old fic originally posted to the Beatles community JohnheartPaul, currently residing on key_to_imagine, currently in locked status. Summary contains the header as is on the LJ post.
> 
> Originally posted 14 FEBRUARY 2009.

The Ballad of Two Young Men (and One Young Love)  
  
  
The doorbell rang, and John ran down the stairs. He knew it probably was Paul – Mimi wasn't expecting someone as far as he knew, and he often did know when she had someone coming over. He also knew Paul had a family event tonight, and he'd told John that when it was over, or when he was bored, he would be coming over. It was mid-February, and it had been raining all day, though right now it was dry; it could be a reason why Paul was arriving exactly now, right after ten in the evening. Mimi wouldn't usually let John have over any guests in the evening, but for a change she'd agreed that if Paul would be coming over, he could also spend the night as long as both boys wouldn't make too much noise and keep her up. She had also warned about going downstairs – John knew she preferred them to stay in John's room and not play the guitar.   
  
When he opened the door, there were two things to Paul he noticed. The first was that he wasn't carrying his guitar, and it didn't surprise John very much as Paul, too, knew about Mimi's strict regime, and if they wanted to keep seeing each other compromises were probably needed. The second did surprise him though – Paul appeared to be drunk. And not a little, seen from the swagger in his step as he walked past John, and the way he slurred as he greeted John with “good evening”. The smell of beer entered John's nose – although it wasn't as heavy as he'd expected, seen the state Paul was in. Then again, they had only known each other for about half a year and he'd never really paid much attention to how much Paul drank – maybe he only needed very little alcohol to get drunk?  
  
“C'mon,” John said, deciding he now certainly would have to keep Paul away from his auntie, no matter what. “I promised Mimi we'd be staying in my room, so she won't be bothered by us talking about music.” John started to walk up the stairs, and looked back to see Paul wasn't following him, only grinning at him lazily. “She doesn't like hearing us talk about the devilish sounds,” he added, whispering, “or about Brigitte.” Mentioning the name of the blonde sex-bomb brought an ever bigger grin to Paul's face, and this time he nodded and followed John.   
  
Paul immediately sat down on John's bed, with his back against the wall and his head next to the picture of Brigitte Bardot John had taped to his wall, and looked at every night before he went to sleep (and had something to get rid of without Mimi hearing him). John hoped Paul wouldn't be sick all over his bed, even though he didn't really look like he would. In fact, his rosy cheeks weren't looking different than normal, and the smell of beer was wearing off quickly enough. He still had the lazy grin playing with the corners of his mouth, though, and his eyes were lid, and whenever he spoke there still was the slur in his words.   
  
“She's pretty,” Paul sighed, turning his head to the side to see the picture. He brought up a hand to caress her paper cheek, and then returned his look to John – who had been thinking about how he could get Paul to talk a little quieter, and why on earth Paul seemed drunk but didn't smell like it. He seemed to recall the day after Christmas, when Paul was pretty hungover when they met (just like himself, actually) and still a bit drunk – it was nothing like this. Because he'd been thinking so deeply, it took him some time to realise Paul was still looking at him intently, still grinning stupidly, while the look in his eyes had shifted from playful to something... entirely else. Something full with lust.  
  
“What?” John squinted as Paul leaned towards him, and he got annoyed by the grin – wanted to slap it off Paul's face in fact. He didn't though, because he also was curious about Paul's actions – he wanted to see where this was going, what Paul was going to do.   
  
“I feel like kissing someone,” Paul's breath hitched after he'd whispered it, and then before John knew it there were hands in his neck – a lot stronger than he'd expected from Paul, especially in this state – and there were lips on his mouth, a tongue probing, trying to gain an entrance and John's mouth opened on its own accord it seemed, because he didn't think he wanted to but let it happen anyway. In the middle of the racing thoughts inside his head, there was one that seemed to stand out – and it wasn't the 'I'm kissing a boy', or the 'I'm kissing a friend' (John was against kissing friends, and although he didn't have any friends who were girls he supposed he would be against kissing those friends as well, because he didn't want a romance right now as he was with Cynthia, and if he wanted someone else he preferred a bird he didn't know over somebody he did know, as that somebody might accidentally slip something about it and John didn't think he wanted to leave Cyn, no matter what). It wasn't that he was thinking about Mimi either, who might go take a look if she heard strange sounds, thinking it could be Paul strangling John or the other way around – she had once nearly walked into the room when John was there with Cyn, engaged in certain activities of which he was sure that his aunt wouldn't want to see him like, but thankfully the door had been locked back then. It was now. No, the thought that really sprang out, was that Paul didn't actually taste like beer – or if he did, it was only the faintest hint of stale beer. If _he_ 'd had alcohol, then Cyn would always taste it immediately and pull a disgusted face, wrinkling her nose and waving with her hand as if it would help to get the taste away, telling him he shouldn't drink before they kissed.  
  
Then they parted.  
  
“I don't think I feel like kissing anymore now,” Paul said, and John found this entire situation altogether quite strange. Not in the last place, as he realised, because he wasn't disgusted by it. He'd always acted as if he thought queers were disgusting, boys doing things with other boys that they were supposed to do with birds, and he had always thought that it was disgusting and that he would never do such a thing, while now he'd done so ... no, he didn't think it had felt at all that bad. Maybe it had even been nice, a little nicer than he pretended it had been was possible too. Paul did act a bit strange, though, and John didn't know what to think of it anymore. It didn't really look like he was drunk, though, but he couldn't imagine why Paul would kiss him – he certainly had never thought of kissing Paul (except for one morning on which he awoke with a hard-on and the last snippets of a dream repeating themselves in his head, but he hadn't thought anything of it). In other words: it didn't really make any sense, all of this.   
  
So perhaps Paul was pulling him a leg? If that was so, he had been prepared for that first kiss. And if he had been prepared for that first kiss, he might be thrown off by a second, for whichever reason (a reason John didn't really want to think about), then maybe he'd figure out what all of this was about. Otherwise he'd have to hope Paul really was off his face and wouldn't remember what was about to happen tomorrow morning, after it had happened. He supposed that he wouldn't mind kissing Paul again – he felt the first stirs of arousal pool low down in his belly, and a silly kind of warmth spread through his body that he usually only felt when he was getting intimate with Cyn, or intimate with his hand while looking at Brigitte.   
  
Before he could think it over any longer, his hands found their way over to the collar of Paul's shirt, and grabbed hold of it. He yanked Paul towards him, suddenly feeling a kind of fire burn inside him that he didn't really recognize, or perhaps only vaguely, from other dreams that he'd been trying to forget all along. Then their lips were against the others' again, hotter than before, and not only tongues sliding against each other but also teeth clashing together, a fierceness and passion in the kiss that shocked John enough to pull away again – and apparently enough to scare Paul as well, because suddenly his eyes were wide open, and the grin had disappeared, and his breathing was quick and shallow, while he stared at John. No, he gaped at John.   
  
“The fuck?” Paul breathed, still trying to catch his breath. John decided this was his turn to grin, and so he did.   
  
“Tell me what this was about,” he inquired, “because you're acting really strange tonight.” (Not so very) much to his surprise he saw how Paul started to blush and fiddle with one of his shirts' sleeves, suddenly not looking the slightest drunk anymore.   
  
“Um,” Paul said, but that was it.  
  
“There is no way you can sober up from something like that,” John stated, bringing a sharp edge to his voice that hopefully made Paul tell the truth. It didn't. All Paul managed to bring out was an “um”, and that two letter word didn't count as an answer, and certainly not right now.   
  
“Paul?” John then said, questioning him, and glaring at him because he needed this answer. In the mean time the arousal was still burning, the stir in his belly had moved and settled between his legs, and although John didn't want to pay attention to it, it still rang a bell somewhere in the back of his mind, that he didn't only want to hear an answer because he wanted to know what had moved Paul to do this. “Just fucking tell it, alright? You have kissed me and I haven't gotten angry so I don't think I will get mad when I hear your answer,” John then said, louder than he'd intended so he couldn't hear his head thinking anymore – or at least he hoped he wouldn't. Maybe it also was a tiny bit because he was getting frustrated with Paul and felt like kissing him again to see what would happen then – and he couldn't kiss Paul again under any circumstances, except when – he cut himself short because, really, he definitely couldn't. For so many reasons.  
  
Paul sighed. “Alright,” he started, nearly stumbling over the word, “I just wanted to kiss you and I figured this would be the best way to.” He then looked at John, his eyes showing an openness John had rarely seen before in Paul. The both of them stayed silent for a while, until John couldn't keep himself quiet anymore as there was a question that needed to be asked.  
  
“What did you think of it?” and as soon as he saw Paul relax – his body and his features – he felt the awkward tension leave his own body as well, although that other tension, the sweltering hot tension, stayed.   
  
“It was good,” Paul snickered a bit, “but your breath stinks a little. I bet you didn't brush your teeth after tea like your aunt told you to.” John shrugged – he had, only to please Mimi, but neither she or Paul had to know that he kept a secret stash of sweets in his room. His stomach felt like it was filled with bouncy people though, who were happy that Paul, of all people, had said that the kiss had been good. And then there was another question to be asked, because there were so many reasons against it, there also were a lot of reasons that were for it, and they weighed up against the 'not to'.   
  
“What do you say? Wanna do it again?” he asked, and then there was a full somersault made by his guts as Paul's eyes lit up and the grin was back at his lips but different. He first made sure to lock the door, and then sat down onto the bed, so close to Paul that their bodies were touching and couldn't not be touching no matter which way they moved.   
  
Then Paul's lips were back against John's for the third time that evening, and John guessed they obviously couldn't talk about this tomorrow, but he didn't want to break the kiss to say the three words that were in his mind, because the tongue against his own was so good and Paul himself tasted so good, of cigarettes and something musky, masculine, and there were hands on his body and under his shirt, so much rougher than when it was with a girl, and he had to admit to himself that he quite liked it – admitted it to Paul as well in the form of a low moan that escaped from his lips. Paul's hands then went on to tugging on John's body – and he realised it was for a purpose; Paul wanted him to move. He decided to let Paul decide what they would be doing, quite liking to be told what to do rather than to be the leader, like he was with the girls. A change and a challenge – he liked challenges.   
  
Within seconds he was sitting in Paul's lap, his legs wrapped around Paul's back while the other boy's legs were spread so John was sort of sitting between them, their crotches pressing together and there was heat, so much, and friction with every little motion they made, and now there were moans coming from the both of them. Their bodies seemed to radiate warmth, and there still was the sound of teeth against each other every now and then, and once Paul sort of bit on John's tongue – which hurt – before moving on to nibble on John's lower lip – which turned him on beyond believe. One of Paul's hands was on his stomach now, while the other was on his back, short nails digging into his skin, and his body had become so sensitive, and the kisses and touches aroused him and he didn't know how much longer he could keep himself from actually _coming_ \- which shocked him slightly because even though he'd had sex before (and lord, did this count as sex? John guessed it did). His hips were bucking ever so slightly – nearly impossible in the position they were sitting in, and Paul was starting to do the same, while he moved his mouth to John's jaw, and then onto his neck, sucking and moaning, and John's right hand left Paul's back. He brought it down to Paul's crotch, fumbling with the button and when it didn't work he used his left hand as well. Then he slid down the zipper, still not looking, but when his hand was resting on the hot skin of Paul's stomach – coarse hairs and John still wasn't panicking like he'd always imagined he would (not like he was thinking about it regularly, of course not) – he broke the gaze for a moment and saw Paul nod.   
  
When he touched the flesh, hard and velvety and strange but familiar as well, he could feel how Paul shivered and gasped in his ear. He slowly eased Paul's cock out of his jeans, as far as possible at least, and although it still felt really awkward he supposed he'd be able to pleasure Paul like this – where the thought of having to had come from, John had no idea, but now it seemed like there was no other option, and no other thought on his mind. Paul's hands had, in the mean time, found the button of John's trousers as well, and mirrored John's actions while John's own hand stilled for a moment. When finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Paul was sitting there with John's cock in his hand, they both started to move at the same moment. John could already feel the first tremors in his body, and he felt the same kind of shivers in Paul's body, and he knew either of them were close, sobloodyclose, and Paul was starting to use his name – Johnjohn-and as he squeezed, then a tongue over the already slick tip of Paul's dick, something like a yelp- _JOHN!Fuck_ , and more curses, and he felt how his own mouth couldn't be shut anymore either. Their hips were slowly rocking, and their erections sometimes accidentally touched each other, sending another shot of electricity along John's spine, and when Paul's actions became more frantic and the rhythm was lost in either of them, it didn't take long for either of them. Paul was the first – coming over John's hand in short spurts of warm, sticky fluid, and then himself after one more squeeze from Paul's hand.   
  
He fell forwards, while Paul rested his back against the wall. All they then brought out was one word, in unison.  
  
“Fuck.”  
  
But it was good like this, and John didn't think it had destroyed their friendship or anything – as it was quite possible this had brought along a newer, deeper level to what they felt for each other, and he liked that idea, and liked it better than thinking he was queer because he wasn't.   
  
“I still think she's quite nice,” he then sighed, burying his head in Paul's neck, while the other boy quietly laughed – he understood John.


End file.
